


And Other Poisoned Devils

by Flyting



Series: And Other Poisoned Devils [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Dark AF Hux, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Nonconsensual Petplay, Stockholm Syndrome, hurting ben solo for fun and profit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:43:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Solo disappeared when he was fifteen years old. The New Republic dismissed Leia Organa's claims that her son was being held as a sex slave by the First Order. Over a decade later, during the attack on Starkiller Base, the Resistance discovers a man being kept as a pet in General Hux's quarters.</p><p>  <i>“I’m not going to tell you anything.”</i><br/><br/><i>The voice that speaks is deeper than he is expecting. Something about it doesn’t quite fit with the very childish image of the thin figure in worn, grey pajamas sitting curled around himself on the room’s only bed. His face is hidden behind a halo of messy dark hair, but Finn gets an impression of long, pale limbs, and ears that stick out a little too far. The man has his shoulders hunched and his knees nearly pulled up to his chin, in a desperate attempt to appear much smaller than he actually is.</i><br/><br/><i>“That’s okay, I’m not here to ask you anything,” Finn says, trying for a smile even though the man doesn’t seem to be looking at him. “I brought you something.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	And Other Poisoned Devils

**Author's Note:**

> This is dark af, but thankfully most of the darkness is implied/non-graphic. However this fic does contain brief scenes of underage sex involving dubious consent, rape/noncon, and torture. Check the bottom notes for more detailed trigger warnings, if you're iffy.

_Pay no mind what other voices say_  
_They don't care about you like I do_  
_Safe from pain and truth and choice_  
_And other poisoned devils_  
_See, they don't give a fuck about you_  
_Like I do_  
\- Pet by A Perfect Circle

* * *

 

 

The door seals shut behind him with a worryingly solid noise. It takes effort not to jump when the lock engages, the mechanisms whirring and grinding a little with age as they slide into place.

He isn’t sure about this. Strike that- he’s definitely, absolutely, very Not Sure about this. He has no idea what to say to the man who, so far, has done nothing but scream in rage or sit around staring in sullen silence. But General Organa is desperate enough to think he might succeed where everyone else has failed, so he’s at least got to try. She doesn’t need to say a word for him to know just how important this mission is to her.

“I’m not going to tell you anything.”

The voice that speaks is deeper than he is expecting. Something about it doesn’t quite fit with the very childish image of the thin figure in worn, grey pajamas sitting curled around himself on the room’s only bed. His face is hidden behind a halo of messy dark hair, but Finn gets an impression of long, pale limbs, and ears that stick out a little too far. The man has his shoulders hunched and his knees nearly pulled up to his chin, in a desperate attempt to appear much smaller than he actually is.  
  
“That’s okay, I’m not here to ask you anything,” Finn says, trying for a smile even though the man doesn’t seem to be looking at him. “I brought you something.”  
  
He sets one of the bowls he’s carrying on the worn, standard-issue nightstand. It’s a New Republic military castoff, like most of the furniture on the Resistance base. Finn has one just like it in his quarters.

There is a mismatched chair left next to the bed, like someone had been sitting vigil in it. He drags it away a few paces, the legs scraping on the duracrete floor, until it is back against the opposite wall, and sits down. It’s partly so he’ll seem less threatening, and partly just in case the man in front of him has another ‘episode’. There is a fresh, fist-sized gouge in the wall next to the door, like something hit it hard.  
  
The man stares at his own knees, unresponsive.  
  
“It’s mint-chip,” Finn adds, gesturing with his own spoon at the bowl of ice cream. “Your mother said that was your favorite.” When there’s no response, he continues just to fill the silence. “I can see why you like it. It’s just the right amount of sweet. Not too much. I can’t do the stuff that’s too sweet. Rey- she’s a friend of mine- she agrees with me. You’d like Rey. She can do all that Force stuff too.”

He takes a bite of his mint-chip and continues. He’s babbling, but he guesses that’s okay, because he can’t think of anything else to say and anyway the guy doesn’t seem to care. At least, he hasn’t thrown anything at him yet. “You know, I’d never had ice cream before I came here? The First Order really doesn’t know what they’re missing.”  
  
Something like a frisson passes through the other man at the words. He doesn’t look up, but suddenly Finn is sure he’s paying attention.  
  
“Are you here to take me home?” He asks, quietly.  
  
The hope in his voice makes something twist painfully in Finn’s chest. “Where’s home?”  
  
A hesitant pause. “The base?”  
  
“Starkiller Base is gone. It was destroyed the day we… the day you were brought here. And I’m not with the Order anymore. I left.”  
  
Nothing. The man’s face is blank, hiding his emotions as effectively as a mask.  
  
“I’m Finn, by the way,” he says. When there’s no sign of acknowledgement, he keeps talking. “They told me your name was Ben. Can I call you Ben?”

Finn gives him time to object if he wants to, and when he doesn’t, continues, “You don’t recognize me, but we’ve actually met before,” Finn says. “Back on the base? When I was a Stormtrooper, I worked in sanitation. You weren’t this quiet back then. I remember the first time- you screamed at me and sent a chair flying at my head because I wasn’t the person who normally did the cleaning. My designation was FN-“  
  
“-2187,” Ben finishes for him. “I remember.”  
  
It’s not a nice memory for Finn. It’s probably worse for Ben, and suddenly he feels awful for bringing it up.

The first time they met had been when FN-2187 had swapped shifts with another trooper and got housekeeping duty in the senior officers' quarters. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal. There was a cute radar technician on deck seven, his normal sector, and the other Stormtrooper had wanted an excuse to run into her. They did things like that all the time, just between themselves. The brass never had to know- it’s not like anyone could tell one Stormtrooper from another.

When TR-1829 had warned him to _just watch out for the General’s pet- he bites_ , FN-2187 had been expecting a cat or something.

The second time they met had been two weeks before Finn defected, and he’d be a liar if he said those facts were unrelated. He’d drawn the short straw and had to respond to a cleanup in Recreation right after the Resistance had helped thwart a pacification campaign on a First Order colony world.  
  
It feels wrong, for so many reasons, to look at the man in front of him and remember how it felt- how it smelled- scrubbing his blood off the floor. And the walls. And the bed.

He still woke up sometimes with the smell of that room stuck in his head.

Changing the subject, he says, “See, you’re smart, Ben. You let your ice cream melt some before you eat it. I didn’t do that the first time and the cold gave me this awful headache.”  
  
Ben glances at the bowl on the nightstand like he’s noticing it for the first time. After a moment, he reaches out with one long arm and picks it up, slowly. He cradles the bowl in the little hollow between his knees and his body, pushing the spoon around idly with one finger so that it makes a dull clinking sound against the side of the bowl. Ben seems to like the sound because he keeps doing it.  
  
“If you’re not hungry for ice cream, I can go get something else. There’s a cook here- her name is Mien- and she makes the best damn tato soup you’ve ever had in your life. Better than food synthesizers any day. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind making you some. Or I could go get us a couple of sandwiches-”  
  
Ben gives a nearly-imperceptible little shake of his head- if it didn’t send ripples of movement through his long, dark hair, Finn wouldn’t have noticed it at all- and curls a large hand around the spoon. He sucks in a sharp breath and then takes a small, hesitant bite, not looking at Finn while he does so, like he’s afraid it’s some sort of poison but has decided it’s easier to just die and get it over with. Finn focuses on his own bowl, scooping up the bit with the most chips in it, trying not to stare. After a minute there is a little scrape as the man takes another bite.  
  
For a while, the only sound is the clink of metal on metal as they eat.

“How long do I have to stay in here?”  
  
The question genuinely surprises Finn. “You don’t. You can leave this room any time you want.”  
  
“The door is locked.”  
  
“That’s for your protection. To keep you safe. There’s a guy on the other side. If you knock on the door, he’ll open it for you. Any time you want, I promise. You’re not a prisoner.” It’s not quite the truth and not quite a lie.  
  
“Can I go back to the ship?”  
  
Finn backpedals. He wasn’t expecting this question so soon. “Well you can’t leave until Mien’s gotten the chance to feed you. She’d never let me hear the end of it. Mien, that is.” Kriff, he’s an awful liar. He really needs to work on that-

Ben sighs noisily. “Then I’m a prisoner,” he says, setting his ice cream back on the nightstand.  
  
At least they were talking. That was good, right? “Alright, you’re… sort-of a prisoner,” Finn admits, changing tactics. “But only because we can’t have you running back to the First Order. Not until you’ve had time to… think things through. As long as you stay on-base, you can do whatever you want.”  
  
“You can’t convince me to betray the Order. When we’ve crushed the Republic, we’ll come for the Resistance next. I’ll be rescued and you’ll be sorry, traitor.”  
  
Finn blows out a deep breath. “…okay.”

He gets it. He really does. There were times, weird little moments here and there, when he actually sort of missed the First Order. It wasn’t something he ever mentioned to anyone. They would think he was crazy, or worse. It’s just that sometimes, when he was terrified of doing the wrong thing, or he overslept for hours because he didn’t have anything like a designated time to report for duty, or he ran out of clean clothes because he forgot he had to take them all down to the cleaning droids, he found himself longing for the rigid structure of his life in the Order. There was something comfortable about knowing your place, knowing exactly what you were supposed to be doing every minute of every day.

So he knew how it felt to want something that was familiar, even if that familiar was absolutely horrible, over something that was terrifying and new.  
  
But there’s a limit to his sympathy when there’s still a gaping hole in the universe where the Hosnian system used to be. When Han and Chewie and half a dozen other guys are still missing- probably dead- from getting pinned down while trying to rescue Ben.

“Hey, that’s a neat trick,” he says, trying not to sound as irritated as he feels. “I couldn’t even see Hux’s lips moving.”  
  
Ben doesn’t visibly react to the name, but Finn still realizes he’s done something awful as soon as he says that name. Something in the air changes.  
  
Finn suddenly remembers the first time they met, and the way Ben had frozen, like a startled animal that’s sure it’s about to be eaten, at the general’s voice from the doorway. Finn had slumped to the floor, suddenly free of the invisible weight that had him crushed against the wall, and struggled to suck in air through the dented regulator on his helmet, but the man who had pinned him without even touching him- and _how the hell did he do that-_ was the one who was shaking like he suddenly couldn’t breathe.  
  
_“What’s going on here?”_

Hux hadn’t even sounded mad. He’d sounded terse and hurried, and a little like he had a stick rammed up somewhere unpleasant, but he always sounded like that. Ben- although Finn hadn’t known his name at the time- had reacted like he was about to be shot.

“I’m sorry-“ he had gasped, “I didn’t- he wouldn’t tell me what he wanted, and- they’re not supposed to be in here, you said. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” the words trailed off.  
  
Hux shushed him. Skirting around the broken remains of his desk chair on the floor without looking, he reached out to card gloved fingers through Ben’s hair. Petting him. The dark-haired man leaned his head hesitantly into the touch, like a nervous animal seeking comfort from the same hand that had struck it.

“Well?” Hux said to Finn.

“I’m just here for housekeeping,” Finn had said, his hands raised in defense.

“No, but he’s not the one-“ Ben hissed to Hux, who shushed him again.

“Designation is FN-2187, sir. I just swapped shifts with TR-1829. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” He didn’t say anything about what he’d seen. He wasn’t an idiot. Hux was the highest ranking First Order officer in this corner of the galaxy, and if he wanted to keep a grown man – a grown man who could throw people around the room with his mind, at that- as a pet then FN-2187 wasn’t going to be the one to call him on it. He liked his brain the way it was, thanks.  
  
“See? You’re making a big fuss over nothing,” Hux had chastised Ben mildly, whose eyes were still brimming with barely restrained panic. Finn looked away as Hux continued, “In the future, any scheduling changes of this sort are to be approved by me first. He doesn’t like changes to his routine.” Stiffly, he adds, “Don’t worry about the mess. I’ll take care of it.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” Finn had said automatically. He had always done well in his training sims; he knew when it was time to beat a retreat. He could feel the weight of Ben’s eyes, still heavy with suspicion and a dose of panic, follow him out of the room.

Before the door had slid shut behind him, out of the corner of his visor he’d seen General Hux’s gloved hand fist in Ben’s dark hair, twisting painfully until the taller man dropped to his knees.

“Just give it a shot here, okay Ben?” Finn tries, changing tactics. “Your mother is really happy that you're back. And yeah- I know it’s different, but it’s a good different. All that stuff they tell you about the Resistance… it’s not true.”

“He’s going to come get me,” Ben mutters into his knees, still curled up on the narrow bed. Finn isn’t sure which one of them he’s trying to convince. “He’s going to come get me, he loves me. He loves me.” One of his hands moves, rubbing gently over his own thigh as his voice trails off into a whisper, pressing the words into his own body like a talisman. “He’s going to come get me, he loves me, he’s going to come get me…”

“Hey, Ben… “ Finn says, as gently as possible, trying to shake him out of what seems like the beginnings of downward spiral. “Look at me, hey- look at me.”

He doesn’t. The hand that was rubbing his thigh comes up to tangle in his own hair, twisting a few dark strands around his pale fingers. “Go away.”

Finn squeezes his eyes shut as he fights the urge to shake him to snap him out of it. That wouldn’t help anything, much as he wants to scream that Hux is hauling ass halfway across the galaxy now because _like hell_ he cares about Ben-

“Go away,” Ben says again, louder.

“Ben…” No one who cared about Ben would have let _that_ happen to him, would have left him bleeding and in so much pain he could barely move-

The bowl shatters against the wall next to Finn’s head, making him jump and drop his own bowl on the floor. “ _Go away_!” Ben screams, his voice deepening with rage. Half-melted ice cream drips down the wall. “Get out! Go away, go away-“  
  
Ben makes no move to pursue Finn as he scrambles for the door, slamming the comm panel with the palm of his hand and darting through before it’s even halfway open, then hitting the panel on the opposite side to close it. Heady with adrenaline, Finn leans heavily against the wall in the hallway outside. The guard- a tall, beefy guy called Breslin, whose bald head shone in the dim artificial light- watches him in sympathy from his place beside the door.

“So, how’d it go?” Breslin asks slowly, with only a hint of sarcasm.  
  
Finn blows out the breath he had been holding. Shaky, overwhelmed.  
  
“Yeah, that’s what General Organa said too,” Breslin sighs.

 

  
  
Once the traitor Stormtrooper is gone, Ben curls over on his side. He does not want to pull the covers up over his shoulder- does not want to accept that thin offer of comfort from the _Resistance –_ but after the heat of his anger fades, his skin begins to feel chilly, and he reconsiders. He doesn’t know how long their indulgence will last for. Everyone knows there’s no rule or reason in the Republic. He may as well enjoy the creature comforts while he can.

Hux would come get him eventually, Ben just had to endure until he did. He could do that. He’d endured the others, before Hux found him again- passed along like chattel to people who didn’t care about him, didn’t love him-  and he’d endured his punishments, his visit to Recreation, because Hux said it was best-  
  
Remembering that still makes his hands shake a little. Makes the pit drop out of his stomach.

Nothing the pathetic Resistance could do to him could possibly hurt more than that. He’d be fine. He’d endure, and then Hux would find him and take him home. He had to. Hux had promised, that first time they had been separated, whispered words falling from his soft mouth, hot against Ben’s hair.  
  
“It’ll take time, but I’ll get you back some day. When I’m powerful. I promise.” A kiss pressed just beneath his ear. An arm tightening possessively around his waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his bare hip and then dragging down to curl around his limp cock. He’d gone soft while Hux was fucking him earlier, the pain of it chasing away his arousal, but he feels his cock hardening again as long fingers close possessively around him, squeezing, stroking, thumbing at the wet head. “You’re mine. No matter what happens, remember that. Always. You belong to me, Ben. Say it.”  
  
“I belong to you,” he’d echoed the words back, though he can’t remember what he felt at the time, as Hux’s hand worked him, slow and almost punishingly gentle when he wanted- needed- something else, something more, he didn't know what. It was so long ago- they were both so young at the time. Ben remembers they hadn’t cut off his padawan braid yet.  
  
“Again.”  
  
“I belong to you.”  
  
“I’m the one who loves you, the only one. Say it.”  
  
“You’re the only one who loves me.” He whined. Hux quickened his pace.  
  
After the Order took him, Ben had been locked in that little grey room, with no windows and a collar around his neck so he couldn't use the Force to escape. They didn't even ask him any questions. Just kept him there. Alone. The one bright spot in his life became Hux, with his copper-orange hair and pretty green eyes, who came once a day with food and conversation and smiles just for Ben.  

“I’m the first one who had you. The first one who fucked you.”  
  
“Yes,” he muttered, wanting to bury his face in the pillow.  
  
“You’re mine. Say it.”  
  
“I’m yours.”  
  
“Again.”  
  
“I’m yours-”  
  
“You belong to me.”  
  
“I belong to you-” Ben whimpered, “I’m- I’m yours- _ahh_!”

Ben didn’t see Hux again for years after that. Hux went away and a droid started bringing Ben his meals, until Ben got sent away too. Colonel Elba had been the first one Ben was given to. Most of the others are vague blurs- just faint impressions of limbs and preferences in his memory. There was the one who always had him on his belly, face buried in the mattress so that he could pull Ben’s hair, and the one who liked to make him bleed. There was one who shared him with his wife, another who didn’t like to touch Ben herself, but she liked to watch while other people did, and one who made him wear a gag.  
  
But Ben remembers Colonel Elba because he was the first; because that hollow emptiness that blossomed through his body when Elba first told him to get on his knees had never really gone away.

He had refused, that first time, embarrassed and numb as he realized that _that_ what he had been brought here for- _that_ was what this man- his mother’s enemy- wanted to do to him. A part of him had been expecting punishment for his refusal; to be beaten, or tortured, or simply taken by force, there on the floor of Elba’s office. There might have been dignity in that, at least.

Unconcerned, Elba had simply waved him off, dismissive, and told Ben that he could come back when he felt like being cooperative.

Until then, Elba saw no need to feed an _uncooperative_ pet.

He lasted five days. The sixth day, his hands shaking and his stomach twisted in hollow, empty knots, Ben left his quarters, found Elba in his office, and got down on his knees. When Elba came on his tongue, he was so hungry that he swallowed it without a thought.

Ben sniffs loudly. He doesn’t like to remember what his life was like before Hux found him again, before Hux saved him. Hux- he told Ben not to think about them anymore- that he would only upset himself.

But he finds that he cannot _stop_ thinking about them now, because if that’s what the Order saw as fit punishment, what will the Resistance do to a traitor? Everyone knew the Republic was chaotic and lawless and evil, and now he was on his own-

He fights back the hot tears pricking at his eyes. Ben doesn’t want to cry. He’s sure the _Resistance_ is watching him, waiting to see how easily he breaks. His mother will be watching him, and then when she sees that he’s weak she will come back and tell him more lies.  
  
His _mother_. That word used to mean something; something big and soft and warm, something comforting. It may as well be a nonsense word now, for all the meaning it has to him. His mother. _Mother, mother, mother, mother_ \- he repeats it into his head until it’s just a vague mess of sounds. Gibberish. Unimportant.

“ _Oh baby, I’ve missed you so much-“_ Leia had said, her soft fingers catching in his hair as he curled away.

_“Your mother is really happy that you’re back.”_

Did they think he was stupid?

Ben knows that he’s not… okay. Not entirely. In the head. But he isn’t _dumb_. Why would she be happy to see him now? Why, if she _missed him_ , had his mother refused every offer to get him back that Hux had ever sent her? Hux had told him what she said- that they didn’t want him anymore. That they thought he was worthless, disgusting, _used._  His mother had never cared before when he was in pain, when he was _punished_ for the things her and her stupid awful _Resistance_ did-

Ben sniffs; digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. He doesn’t want to cry. Doesn’t want to let them see him cry. As he rubs his eyes, the stiff leather and plasteel band around his wrist catches on the sleeve of his shirt, and Ben growls, tugging at it. It doesn’t budge any more than it did the first time he woke to find it locked around his wrist.

And the Resistance wanted him to believe that he wasn’t a prisoner.

It itches, and he scratches at it, trying to stick his fingers under the band to get at the skin there. The one he used to wear, before, always itched too, until Hux had taken it off and told him that so long as he behaved he never had to wear one, ever again.

The thought of Hux makes tears prick at Ben’s eyes again. He was going to be so mad at Ben for running away; for getting captured, but Ben didn’t care- any punishment, anything, he would do it, just as long as he got to go home.

Turning his face into the pillow so that the Resistance doesn’t see him crying, Ben lets himself imagine Hux coming to rescue him with a hundred Stormtroopers. He cards his fingers through his own dark hair, comforting, and tries to pretend that it is Hux’s hand there instead.

 

 

She is in a holo-conference with several of her lieutenants and a harried representative of the New Republic Emergency Senate when Finn slips quietly into the room. It takes every last drop of her draining self-control not to grab him by the arms and shake him. He looks up at her questioning stare, meeting her eyes from across the conference table, and shakes his head.

“- fleet is mobilizing, but it will be several days before we can consolidate our forces.” General Organa drags her attention back to the holo of the representative as she shuffles her thick pile of notes, searching. Leia feels a distant pang of sympathy for the girl, who is so obviously out of her depth, but paddling with all her strength nonetheless. “I’m- we’re sending you a list of surviving members- those who were off-world at the time of the- the attack. We’re still compiling, but it’s short. The Emergency Senate will meet by holo later today- everyone is too frightened of another attack to risk gathering in any one place.”

“If nothing else, I can assure the senate that the weapon which devastated the Hosnian System has been destroyed,” she says, infusing her voice with a strength she doesn’t really feel. “Two days ago, my pilots were able to launch a direct attack on the planet after one of our agents dismantled their shielding from the inside. The weapon went critical, taking the planet with it.”

“We’ll sent you the co-ordinates so your sources can verify the account,” Poe Dameron chimes in. “But I lead the attack myself. You’re safe, at least for now.”

“On behalf of the senate, I think it’s safe to say you have our gratitude, commander.”  
  
“The _Starkiller_ Weapon may be gone, but who knows what else the First Order has in store?” Gial Ackbar says.

Reluctantly, Leia agrees. “He’s right, we can’t let this make us cocky. We may have broken the weapon, but the hand that pulled the trigger is still out there.”  
  
“Does the Resistance know who fired the weapon?”  
  
“I suspect the decision came all the way from their security council,” Leia says, her voice tightening, “But the one who gave the order to fire was a man named Hux.” She spits the name out, eager to get the taste of it out of her mouth. There are a lot of people she's hated in her life- condescending military men, obstructive politicians, slimy Imperialists- but she has never hated anyone so fiercely as she hates General Hux.

She’d first heard of Armitage Hux as a matter of course. The Resistance kept a dossier on every high ranking First Order officer they were able to identify. Hux was highly visible within the Order- the son of an Imperial Officer, head of the Order’s Stormtrooper training program, he featured prominently in their propaganda holos. There was a picture with the file- copper hair and cold green eyes. Her information said he was a ruthless little pissant, highly skilled in manipulation and brainwashing.

The next time she heard the name ‘Hux’, her son was screaming it. Begging, as he was held down and electrocuted over and over by a stormtrooper’s riot baton. _“Please, please, Hux, please- I can’t- no more, please- agh!”_ In the holo, Ben had cried out, convulsing. He had wet himself.  
  
“General?” Dameron asks, gently. Leia realizes that she’s closed her eyes, trying to ward off the images burned into her mind’s eye. Not that it worked. They were always there, waiting in the darkness at the back of her mind. Before the holos started arriving they used to be vague- imagined terrors of what _might_ be happening to her son. Now she had specifics. Details.

They never go away. But she’s gotten used to ignoring them.

“Yes?” she asks, centering herself.

“Anything else you have for the senate?”

She could be bitter, now. She could be smug. How many times had she begged the Senate to see that the First Order was a threat? How many times had she sat with Han in the cramped office of some bored New Republic law enforcement officer, forcing down bitter caf and repeating herself until she was blue in the face, until she was screaming that she knew _exactly_ who had taken her son, all they had to do was _look-_  How many times had she been dismissed?

She could be bitter. Angry, smug, justified. Instead, she is just tired.

“Not currently. We’ll be in touch.” Unthinking, she adds, “Please convey to the senate and the survivors of the Hosnian system that our thoughts are with them.”

“Of course,” the girl nods. “And our gratitude with you.”

Leia switches off the holo, casting the room into shadow, broken only by the flicker of radar screens and tactical readings.

“Everyone get some rest,” she sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “You too, Dameron. That’s an order. You did well. We won the battle, but stay sharp. The rest of the war will be here soon enough.”

Finn- that sweet, gentle boy- approaches her as the rest of them file out of the room. He crouches beside her chair until they are eye-to-eye, his elbows balanced on his knees.

“How is he?” she asks, when she can find her voice.

Finn sighs. “Scared. Upset. Really, really confused.”

Leia nods. She wasn’t unprepared for any of this. But even prepared, it had still been a knife between her ribs, driving all the air from her body, when Ben had twisted away from her and curled in on himself to escape the hands that wanted to pull him into her body- to keep him close, safe, always- and to never let him go again, even while he snarled and snapped hateful things like a cornered animal. If she deserved it less, it might not have hurt so much. _Fourteen years_ they had him. Fourteen years, and then it was only chance that they found her baby at all. Chance that the man in front of her had met him, had-

Finn hadn’t wanted to tell her the details, talking in vague terms about Ben having been _hurt_ by a number of Stormtroopers, on General Hux's orders, and Finn being the one to find him. The one who had to clean up the mess afterwards. 

She hasn’t been able to tell him yet that she’s seen worse things than he can imagine. There are nine holovids.

 _Eleven_ , she thinks. It would have been eleven Stormtroopers, because it was right after the conflict on Alloraca, and there had been eleven First Order casualties. She’s surprised she didn’t get a holo of that one, thinks that it quite probably would have broken her, but between raping her son and destroying the Hosnian system, the little pissant was probably busy.

The holos were all sent to her public commlink address through a private channel, rerouted through so many systems their origins were untraceable. She knew who sent them anyway. Ben had told her, had screamed his name as he was being tortured.

That holo, the one with the riot baton, had come after the Resistance thwarted an assassination attempt on a New Republic senator, who was lobbying to restrict trade with First Order-controlled planets. There was never a message. There didn’t need to be.

“I want to try again, maybe tomorrow.” Finn is saying. “He seems willing to talk to me, so that’s a good thing. I think if we spend some time together he may-“

“Finn,” she interrupts, “Thank you.”

 “It’s no problem, general. Really. We're going to fix him.” His brown eyes are full of earnest warmth.

He believed it. She could see it in his face.

And his first thought had been to protect her, a woman he barely knows, and who he’d been raised to see as his enemy. _If he can break twenty years of First Order brainwashing_ , Leia whispers in her own head, _so can her Ben._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger details:
> 
> Underage sex/dubcon/noncon: 15-year-old Ben is manipulated into having sex with one of his captors, Hux, who is in his twenties, and has encouraged Ben to become emotionally dependent on him. Later, Ben is forcibly starved until he agrees to perform oral sex on another man.
> 
> Torture: Physical- Ben is repeatedly shocked by an electrified riot baton. Emotional - Leia is sent recordings of her son being tortured every time the Resistance thwarts the First Order.


End file.
